Capybara. Chinchilla. Chimerical. Camouflage. Cow. All these words pop up in the BIG ARTS Strauss Theater's production of "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee." I'd toss "outstanding" into the mix; the quirky musical offers another reason to pay the toll to Sanibel.

"Putnam County" ran for 1,136 performances on Broadway, winning two Tony Awards. Based on improv play "C-R-E-P-U-S-C-U-L-E," "Putnam County" traces the journey of six strange adolescents through a spelling bee at Putnam Valley Middle School. Stir in three equally loony adults, four audience members plucked at random and a riotous, free-wheeling atmosphere more akin to a playground than a competition and you've got the recipe for a rollicking musical.

Each speller gets a turn in the spotlight as their stories unfold. Each has something for the audience to identify with - be it lovable misfit Olive Ostovsky (a charming Anne Chamberlain), confident William Barfee (perfectly cast Steven Mooney) or determined genius Marcy Park (an oh-so-serious Jo Philbin). What the show does best is examine childhood - and adulthood - through the lens of competition and pressure. Winning isn't everything - and the ragtag band of spellers in "Putnam County" haven't learned that yet.

Of the group (all are exceptional), Adam Jones stands out as whimsical space cadet Leaf Coneybear (his siblings are named Marigold, Brooke, Pinecone, Landscape and Raisin), who's only in the bee because the winner and runner-up from his local competition are at a bat mitzvah. Jones, clad in a bicycle helmet, flowing superhero cape and sandals, captures the out-there character - who spells his series of rodent-inspired words in a religious trance - without making Leaf seem a total nutcase.

Annie Freres also shines as brassy, enthusiastic, too chirpy spelling bee organizer Rona Lisa Peretti, still basking in the glory of her win years ago on the word "syzygy." Freres brings an angel's voice to the judge's table - where she's joined by an unrecognizable Galloway Stevens as troubled vice principal Douglas Panch. Stevens deadpans some of the night's funniest lines - "Despite the absence of any actual frog meat, Mary's lasagna tasted like crapaud." Crapaud being, for the gourmands out there, a South American frog.

Janelle Turco's costumes yank the adult actors back to adolescence - Boy Scout uniforms, oversize overalls, slouchily worn uniforms and pink pigtails abound. Touches like a glittering "L" on Leaf's cape or a wristlet purse for Logainne's gay father layer in fantastical touches without overwhelming the show. The theater reeks of high school auditorium (kudos to set designer Billy Davis), right down to the decals on the floor, banners on the wall and a fake soda machine in the corner. There's even a giant stuffed sock monkey in the corner - a nod to childhoods gone by.

"Putnam County" isn't perfect. The intimate confines of the Schoolhouse Theater - with the audience staring down at the performers - leaves Kerry Lambert's choreography feeling cramped. Chamberlain's soaring "The I Love You Song" does connect, as does a frantic, whirling sequence as spellers take turns in front of the microphone.

Director Jason Loete opts for an intermission, although "Putnam County" can (and probably should be) performed without one. Adding a break means time for more audience spellers in the show - each one gets at least two turns in the spotlight, with words of varying difficulty. As much as I frown on audience participation, the organic nature of this particular show makes the trick work. The crowd howls with laughter as their friends and neighbors try to spell impossibly hard words.

Splitting the show also means not forcing the septuagenarian bladders to hold out for 100+ minutes of side-splitting laughter. Unfortunately, the impact of John Ramsey's poignant and hilarious "My Unfortunate Erection" lament (wait for the "popping" finale!) gets blunted. The more contemplative second half (more drama, less slapstick) also feels a bit slower because of the break and the lost momentum.

Take the drive to Sanibel ($6 toll) and find out how to spell F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C. Look for the hair-tossing antics of Adam Jones, the lisping girl in too-tight-braids Rachael Endrizzi and Galloway Stevens, he of the silly sentences. And keep an eye out for Brandon Michael Williams as an ex-con doing community service as a spelling bee "Comfort Counselor."